


The Squawking Dead

by Toodleoo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_giftfest, F/M, Humor, Romance, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toodleoo/pseuds/Toodleoo
Summary: Severus Snape is absolutely fine, thank you very much. That is... until one of the Malfoy peacocks falls strangely ill and Hermione Granger is thrust back into his life to help solve the case. Where the peacocks are concerned, however, it seems that there is more than meets the eye. No matter what Severus and Hermione do, nothing goes according to plan!





	1. Louis le Gros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiv5468](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiv5468/gifts).



> Warnings and disclaimers: The rating is for language, a bit of incidental peacock carnage, and the odd bit of nookie. If you don't like any of these, please don't read it! As usual, if you recognise something here, it belongs to JKR (or, in this case, to _Shaun of the Dead, The Walking Dead, Night of the Living Dead_ , or _Dawn of the Dead_ ). I make no money here!
> 
> This was inspired by a prompt from the incomparable Shiv5468, where she requested a SSHG story about the zombie peacock apocalypse. If you haven't read her stories, you are missing out on some hilarious storytelling! Go! Go now and read! Many thanks to Mundungus42 and Lena1987 for brainstorming and beta-reading! (Two brilliant writers who you should also read!)
> 
> Also, "Louis le Gros" means Louis the Fat, a medieval French king. Lucius plucks all his peacock names from the French aristocracy.

A low-pitched squawk sounded across the manor grounds.

“Something is decidedly wrong with Louis,” Lucius declared in a careful tone of voice.

Severus peered over his morning tea at the single fattest peacock he’d ever laid eyes on. The bird was all white, like the rest of Lucius’s ostentation of peafowl, but while most of the birds weighed just shy of a stone, the aptly named King Louis le Gros clocked in at a good twenty-four or twenty-five pounds. He was resting at Lucius’s feet like a dog, with his alabaster plumage arrayed behind him, his head cocked to one side, and his tongue hanging slightly askew in an inelegant manner.

“Something besides avian obesity?” Severus muttered under his breath. He dunked a biscuit into his Earl Grey before taking a bite, ignoring Lucius’s scowl. “I know you pamper your birds, but what are you feeding him?”

“As the alpha peacock in the Malfoy birds, I feel that he has earned the right to eat whatever he wishes,” Lucius said. “He loves a double cream quiche as much as the next man, and he nibbles on pate throughout the day.”

 _Good grief_ , Severus thought. It was no wonder the bird was ill. “Can birds develop Type 2 diabetes, or is that disease particular to humans?”

“Quiet, you!” Lucius hissed, reaching down to cover the rotund bird’s ears. He spoke in a whisper. “I do _not_ want him to develop a complex of some kind. What would happen to his breeding capabilities if psychological distress were to prevent him from performing sexually?”

Severus snorted, imagining the bird as he waddled over to any of the prize hens, ready to mount them from behind. “You’re lucky he hasn’t flattened any of the females you’ve sent his way.”

Still keeping his voice low, Lucius explained further. “Since the _Championnat mondial des oiseaux_ last month, Louis has lost all his vim and vigor. He has been moving much more slowly these days—”

“Ask one of your house-elves to build a peacock-sized wheel for his exercise,” Severus said, interrupting the man with a practical solution to his problem.

“—so I took the time last week to examine the list of show cocks competing against him for best in show.” Lucius spoke over his friend more loudly, clearly in denial about the state of the bird’s physique. ‘The list of suspects is brief.’

Severus sighed. Lucius was clearly labouring under the delusion that another peacock breeder in the world was as merciless as he was himself. As if anybody besides a Malfoy cared _that_ much about a bunch of well-heeled pigeons. Still, he humoured the man. Amused by his own wit, he asked, “Do you suspect fowl play?”

A glare was sent his way, along with an exaggerated rolling of the eyes.

After pouring himself a second cuppa, Severus rephrased the question. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen at the competition?”

“The younger Fwoopergrass boy was poking around Louis’ holding pen,” Lucius said, his voice colder than usual. He had a look in his eyes that Severus hadn’t seen since the Ministry forced him to free and pay all his house-elves. “In addition, Irina Girya’s male narrowly lost to Louis in their one-on-one judging. And there was Janjak Dessalines, a judge from the Caribbean, asking _leading_ questions about Louis’ age and weight.”

“If the man is a judge,” Severus interjected, “isn’t it his job to enquire after the physical status of the birds?”

Lucius stared off into the distance, absentmindedly patting the peacock’s head. “One of them interfered. I don’t know who and I don’t know _how_ , but—“

At that moment, Lucius did the unthinkable. Despite being born and raised a Briton, despite being acclimatized to all the social customs of his people, he felt the need to—Severus could hardly bear to think it—the need to display an emotion.

It appeared as though it might be sadness, judging on the tear in Lucius’s eye. Or constipation? No, Severus was pretty sure that it was a hopeless kind of desolation.

Then Lucius let out a soft sob.

“He is simply not the bird I raised from a chick,” the blond said, reaching for a handkerchief from his pocket. The damned thing was monogrammed with a poncy flourish on either side of the cluster of initials.

_Fuck._

_Fuckity fuck._

Severus was fairly certain that the social response called for here was one of empathy, but Lucius was sniffling over a fucking bird. A stupid, squawking, annoying bird. He was stumped as to how to respond. His friend had broken a cardinal rule of Englishness by this unorthodox display. Didn’t he know that he was supposed to sublimate his feelings by glass upon glass of gin? He bit his tongue, waiting for Lucius to realise his egregious error and collect himself.

Just then, Lucius gasped, remembering something. “I never warded Louis’ food dishes.” He leapt from his chair and knelt before the bird, still sitting there with his tongue dangling from one corner of his mouth. After pressing the bird’s head in a few different places and staring down his gullet, Lucius glanced at Severus with a knowing look. “I am alerting the authorities immediately!”

“Whatever for?” Severus asked, watching the man jot a brief note on a red piece of paper. “Just take the damned bird to an animal specialist. St. Mungo’s has a whole floor dedicated to animal trauma.”

“No!” Lucius said, summoning an owl to send the message. “Someone has sabotaged Louis! He has been drugged! He has been poisoned!” 

 

*

Except that he _hadn’t_ been.

Poisoned, that is.                                                                                                

Since he was something of an expert in the subject, Severus took it upon himself to give the bird a once over. He’d made a specialty of poisons and antidotes during his time in service to his pair of crafty overlords, and he knew that there was no possible way that Louis le Gros had been poisoned. None of the telltale signs appeared in any diagnostic test, his blood work was normal, and his saliva carried no trace of any toxins. 

Severus tried to explain, but Lucius simply wouldn’t hear it. He whisked the bird into the Malfoy family library and locked the door. 

This left the taciturn Potions master to explore the wine cellar unattended. He took advantage of his friend’s distraction. After all, Lucius would never miss a bottle—or a case—or two, and Severus was still strapped for cash after the war. Funny how the Ministry’s gratitude for his actions in the war only extended to an Order of Merlin, second class, rather than one of the top drawer first class medal that came with a ten thousand Galleon reward.

Only Potter received _that_ one, the Order of Merlin, first class. Of _course_ Potter received that one. The boy _desperately_ needed more gold in his vaults, as he was merely the sole inheritor of both the Black and Potter family fortunes.

No, Severus himself still lived at Spinner’s End, although he’d spent the first year after the war tidying the place up a bit and reinforcing shoddy construction work with a spell here and there. The place was still shit, but it was sturdy shit now. Shit that held up on a stormy day, with windows that didn’t rattle around in the wind like they had when he was a boy.

So Severus sold himself to St Mungo’s when he could, contracting Potions work here and there and publishing the odd article on his discoveries, which were brilliant but generally unappreciated by the hoi polloi. When he went home to his two-story bungalow after years of indentured servitude, the Malfoys and Potters of the world returned to their various mansions as they always did, enjoying the lifestyles they’d been lucky enough to be born into.

That was life, after all. A total crapshoot where some people always landed on top no matter how foolish their mistakes, and where Severus found his teeth kicked in by fate at every turn. At least he maneuvered through the world with an air of respectability now—war hero and all that.

After twenty minutes or so in the cellar, with Lucius doing Merlin only knew what with the bird in the library, Severus was startled by the loud ringing bells of the estate. He ascended to the foyer, discovering the Aurors whom Lucius had called earlier. Moreover, the master enormous peacock was walking slowly and steadily behind his master to the front door.

Rather too slowly.

It was… an unnatural gait, a kind of biomechanical form that didn’t occur in nature. Severus knew the bird was tubby, but not even his excess weight explained the way he moved now.

The Aurors noticed it as well.

“Ha!” Dim Weasley snorted aloud. “What’s up with your peacock, Malfoy?”

As it turned out, “Aurors” was a generous word for the twosome who had arrived to investigate Lucius’s claims. Merlin, why did Lucius have to alert the authorities? And how had Ronald Weasley even become an authority? Unless something had changed substantially since he was a student, the boy was slower than a nematode waiting for its next meal to crawl into its mouth.

The other one was even worse.

Granger.

Or was it Weasley now?

Gods, he hoped not. He wouldn’t wish that fate upon anyone, and, well, she _was_ a person under all that hair.

All bright eyes and misguided idealism, she stood there in a prim little skirt suit and flats. Lips pursed, she mercifully held her tongue while Lucius explained the case.

“Louis has fathered more birds on my estate than any other in history,” Lucius said. “To lose him in his prime would be devastating for the Malfoy breeding lines.”

The ginger dullard knelt before the bird, meeting the creature with an equally glazed stare. Meanwhile, the girl’s delicate little fingers were wrapped around a ballpoint pen, scribbling furiously in her spiral notebook as Lucius described the international bird breeders’ competition in Paris, the prolonged illness of his bird, and his suspicions that someone had tried to kill the thing.

There was no ring to be seen as she jotted down the case notes.

“He looks alive to me,” Thick Weasley said helpfully, always one to state the obvious.

“Well spotted,” Severus said, rolling his eyes. “He _is_ alive.”

Weasley didn’t catch the sarcasm, but Granger cracked a smile and—for a moment—seemed to glance up and down his body.

 _Curious_ , Severus thought. If she were any other person, he might think that she was observing him with amorous intent, but… No. That couldn’t be.

 _Could it?_  

“It’s good to see you again, Professor,” she said. She smiled prettily at him. “I can tell you in person how your alterations to the Draught of the Living Peace saved a coworker of ours last month.”

“Was that Smith, after he was attacked in Brighton?” Ron asked her.

“Yes, Ronald,” she replied. “Professor Snape—Severus, if I may?—figured out a way for the Healers to keep his body in stasis while he recovered.”

Severus was struck momentarily speechless.

Lucius coughed, waiting for her attention to settle on _him_ before speaking up. “Louis is alive, but he is most unwell,” he said, laying it on thick as he played for her sympathy. “I need the full support of the Aurors to move forward for the sake of… justice.”

So he had noticed her, too. It was clear in his eyes that he regarded Miss Granger with something akin to respect or interest. More likely interest, since Lucius rarely respected anyone of the softer sex who didn’t have his bollocks in the palm of her hand. Or anyone at all, really.

For some reason, this did not sit well with Severus. A girl like her—well, a _woman_ like her, he supposed, since she was a decade past her schooling—should know better than to trust a man like Lucius, but she was just too damned naive for her own good. She probably wouldn’t know how to assert herself around a man like Lucius. Not if she were like every other woman who fell prey to his pretty talk and pretty nose and pretty vault of gold.

“Poisoned, you say?” Granger flipped her notebook closed and slipped it back into the ratty beaded bag slung over her shoulder.

“I did what I could for him once I noticed that he was sick, but I fear I was too late.”

She gestured to Louis. “Is this the bird in question?”

“My cock?” Lucius asked, a smirk written on his face as he sauntered over to the white bird to stroke his head. “Yes. Magnificent, isn’t he?”

Weasley the Simple poked the bird once or twice in its wobbling belly, oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

“Well,” Granger said, circling the bird to look at him from all angles. “It’s certainly the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

Severus groaned internally. She had no idea what she doing, did she? Gods, the innocence of the woman was almost painful to observe. Lucius was going to chew her up and spit her out, but not before playing with his food.

The aristocratic man lowered his voice a notch or two, stepping closer and putting his hand in the small of her back. “And have you seen _many_ , Miss Granger?”

She didn’t flinch, and her expression was impressively unreadable as she met his gaze. “I’ve seen enough for comparison.”

Lucius leaned in for the coup-de-grâce, whispering his words into her ear as his fingers traced circles over the beige tweed she’d adorned herself with. “Do you prefer a large cock, Miss Granger?”

“Mister _Malfoy_!” she exclaimed. Did she sound a tad breathy?

Was it possible that she was actually falling for it? Severus felt a bit betrayed by this. Surely _one_ woman in England could withstand the attentions of Lucius Malfoy, couldn’t she? The last time he’d felt such treachery from womankind, Minerva Fucking Stalwart McGonagall had been giggling and blushing at Lucius’s words in a Hogwarts governors meeting. And if you couldn’t count on a Scotswoman to identify bullshit, who could you count on?

Granger spoke again, her tone clinical and detached. “No female could stand one this big. Truthfully, your cock looks like it can barely even stand on its own.”

He frowned.

“It’s actually a bit sad. He has this tiny little head, and he’s rather lopsided, isn’t he?”

Lucius crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursed.

“You’re right about one thing, Mister Malfoy,” she said. “Your cock is abnormal.”

“Ha! Good one!“ Weasley began sniggering to himself at her declaration. “Never thought I’d hear that from you, ‘Mione. Didja know you just told Malfoy’s dad that his dingaling is wonky?” 

She smiled at her partner, extending her hand to help him stand up again to his full six-foot-something height. Such a gangly fellow.

“Oh, did I?” she asked lightly. “A slip of the tongue, surely.”

Then Hermione Granger surprised Severus. She turned her head just enough in order to make eye contact with him.

And she _winked._

Well.

_Well._

Severus stood in the foyer of Malfoy Manor for a few moments, trying to process all that had just happened. As he contemplated Miss Granger anew, he couldn’t help but be impressed. She was a saucy little minx, messing with Lucius Malfoy on his own turf. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was gaping open, still shocked that the woman had been flirting with him.

He was also aware of a gentle tugging at his trouser leg. Looking around, he saw that the others had all left the room. Had he really been distracted for so long?He was now standing beside a Malfoy elf.

“Sir?” a house-elf asked, dressed in a neatly pressed uniform with the Malfoy insignia emblazoned across his chest. “Sir, Master is asking for you outside with the birdies." 

“Yes, of course,” Severus replied.

He headed out to the peacock grounds in the back, behind the English garden, the Italian garden, and the rose garden.

 _Malfoys will be Malfoys_ , he thought. 

There he found Lucius, Miss Granger, and Red. The former was walking down the central corridor of the aviary, carrying Louis le Gros in his arms. He pointed out the other peacocks to the young woman, all but ignoring the giant loping behind them.

As Severus drew near, Lucius set the bird down at his feet. “Go along, Louis,” he tutted at the bird.

“What do you figure happened?” Weasley asked nobody in particular. The boy turned around and looked at him. “Professor, you hang around Malfoy here, yeah? Did you notice anything with his birds? I mean…” The boy hung his head sheepishly, ruffling his hair as his sentence trailed off. “Listen, Professor, I know your antivenins saved Dad during my fifth year, and you’re a right genius like Hermione is. How has this thing been waddling around for a month _after_ he was poisoned? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Well.

The boy’s words made Severus reconsider _him_ as well. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as dull as he first appeared.

“Weasley, I do not think the bird was poisoned. If, however, a kind of spell was—”

“AAAAAAH!”

It was a blood-curdling cry.

From Lucius, who was now paler than Severus had ever seen him.

“Mister Malfoy?” Granger asked, her eyes wide. “Is everything all right?”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, pointing her gaze towards a truly gruesome scene.

At first, it just looked like a lot of blood.

Blood and feathers.

Blood and feathers and a slim, white peacock, lying gracefully on a straw-covered floor. This bird—a female, Severus supposed—had a small hole pecked open atop her skull. The blood had drained from it just like the life that had drained from her eyes.

Behind her sat Louis le Gros, slightly cross-eyed with a ring of red on his face. He hadn’t completely swallowed, though, and a bit of medulla oblongata hung from the corner of his beak.

Lucius gasped.

Granger stood in silence.

And Weasley responded with his trademark grace. “Braiiiiiiiins,” he intoned. He raised his arms out and wandered around the aviary, muttering the word once more. “ _Braaaaaaains_!”

Clearly, the boy was touched. Severus retracted whatever generous thoughts he’d been considering extending his way.

“Ronald!” Miss Granger hissed, elbowing him in the side as she looked over at a tearful Lucius. The man had crumpled in a heap beside the peahen, stunned into silence. “Please be sensitive.”

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Weasley replied. He stood up, brushed himself off, and reached for his wand. “Er… Anybody know what do with a peacock who’s a—“

“Don't say that!” Lucius said, standing between the Auror’s wand and his beloved pet peacock.

“What?” Weasley asked.

“ _That!_ ”

Severus decided it was time to intervene. Weasley’s tactics might have been juvenile, but it apparent what was going on. Even in the magical world, there was only one occasion where one creature began eating the brains of its own kind. He walked over to his friend, resting his hand on the man’s arm. “It’s time to face facts, Lucius. Louis has become a zom—“

“The zed-word,” Lucius said, clutching at Severus’s open collar. “Don't say it!”

Severus paused a beat. “Why not?”

And Lucius said the thing that they were all thinking. “Because it's ridiculous!”


	2. The Zombie Mutiny of 1665

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione persuades Severus to accompany her... on a date. She wants to learn more about how zombies work, but she's also interested in learning a bit more about how Severus works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All plagues referred to in this chapter are real plagues, but as far as I know, they weren't zombie attacks.

Ridiculous or not, it appeared to be true.

Probably true.

Possibly true?

Louis le Gros, prize peacock of Lucius Malfoy, was a member of the undead.

_Perhaps true._

The first zombie seen in the British Isles in over three centuries, and as far as anyone knew, and the first zombie peacock ever.

The trouble was that absolutely nobody gave a fuck, save for Lucius himself.

Following their initial meeting, Aurors Granger and Red quietly closed the poisoning case. After all, it seemed that Lucius's overactive imagination and competitive nature had concocted _that_ story out of thin air.

As for Louis?

Granger labeled the bird as patient zero and placed him under Ministry surveillance. The Aurors wouldn't allow a human of their own to be wasted on what was seen as a trivial mission, so a free elf in the employ of the office was sent to Malfoy Manor indefinitely to watch the peacock and keep him from devouring any other birds. A small creature named Nippy now resided in the Malfoy aviary, monitoring Louis' mealtimes to make sure he didn't finish off another peacock brain for dessert.

And that was that.

Oh, Lucius was furious at the lack of engagement from the Ministry. He railed against them to Severus whenever he had the opportunity. Why weren't they doing more to save Louis? Couldn't they turn him _back_? Didn't they understand the loss of Louis' young for future generations of peacocks?

For his part, Severus couldn't be arsed to care about a bird. He tried to ignore the man, and went back to his life as usual.

 

*

 

Or so he thought.

"Usual" for Severus Snape had never previously included owls from a rather persistent Hermione Granger, and yet here she was, reaching out to him every few days to ask him for his expert opinion on this, that, or the other. At first, he jotted down curt replies and owled her back, but then she asked him for lunch.

On a date.

She made sure that he knew her intentions in her letter ( _I intend to woo you, Severus, if you'll let me_ ), and he didn't quite know what to make of her forwardness.

Still, scientific curiosity got the better of him, and he agreed to the luncheon.

Why not? She was tolerably intelligent, if rather too inquisitive at times. A pleasing smile, a knockout figure, and hair that he found himself thinking about while he was in the lab. Would it contaminate his brewing? Would she put it up? If she put it up, would he be given access to the skin of her slender neck? Sure, her judgment seemed a bit off, but that played in his favour on this account, as she was pursuing his attentions rather than those of some young gallant with looks and a heart of gold. And since she was the one who extended the invitation, she would surely be paying. Severus could consider himself a feminist by letting her pick up the bill.

He decided not to tell Lucius about the girl. After all, his friend would never endorse the person who, for all intents and purposes, abandoned his peacock in its hour of need. Besides that, though, Severus rather enjoyed keeping Miss Granger as his own little secret. It wouldn't be difficult to keep things quiet. After all, he'd spent a lifetime hiding his assignations with Gryffindors from Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.

 

*

 

Two weeks passed from the day Louis le Gros had eaten his first peacock brain, and Severus Snape found himself pacing outside a little French brasserie in Westminster, waiting for his date with Miss Granger.

"Severus!"

He turned around to see the young woman running across the street, waving maniacally with an enormous grin. After an awkward moment where she attempted to kiss his cheek, they took their seats at a little corner table, menus in hand.

Severus perused the list of options, smirking to himself when he saw one of the specials. "Would it be in poor taste to order the cervelle de veau?"

Granger snorted into her water glass. "Calf's brain? I suppose as long as there's not a cervelle de paon, the calf's brain is your best bet."

Severus glanced at her over the top of his menu, observing a soft blush on her cheeks. "Nonsense. If calf's brain is an entrée, peacock's brain is barely an appetizer."

"True," Granger agreed, her eyes fixed on his. "They're some of the stupider creatures I've ever dealt with. Their brains must be miniscule."

"And you socialize with Gryffindors and Quidditch players, so your threshold for tolerating idiocy is presumably much lower than most people's."

She swatted his hand across the table. "I'd tell you you're terrible, but you happen to be correct most of the time. Viktor Krum was a clever fellow, but he was the exception to the rule."

"Besides," Severus added, studying her features, "I may consider adopting the vegan lifestyle after all the bloodshed I have seen."

She laughed aloud.

And caught his eye, growing serious in the span of a breath.

For a moment, they shared something. Something indefinable, a kind of like responding to like. He could sense camaraderie with her, and he felt the warmth of her body and the softness of her skin when she reached across the table, taking his hand in hers.

She was so _soft._

The arrival of the server interrupted them then, the moment was broken, and she grasped her menu again. They ordered dishes that were rather tame by comparison to brains of any kind—some unpronounceable stews with lots of wine and onions and herbs.

Twenty minutes passed in relative ease, with conversation rambling from what each had been up to after the war and to how much they despised the press. Then they returned to the rather sticky subject of Louis le Gros and his condition.

"By my understanding," Severus began, "the Ministry's response has been inadequate thus far. What on earth, Granger—"

"Hermione—" she said, interrupting him.

" _Hermione_ ," he said, forcing himself to acclimate to the intimacy of her given name, "what in Merlin's name is the real plan of action concerning Lucius's damned bird? That house-elf can't watch him forever."

"I'm afraid he'll have to." Hermione straightened up in her chair, flicking nonexistent lint off the jacket she was wearing. Avoiding all eye contact with him, Severus knew she wasn't telling the whole truth.

"Louis is ten years old," he said, idly stirring his fork through his mostly empty plate, "so he has roughly five or six years remaining, according to the average lifespan of the species."

Hermione snorted. "He'll die of heart failure before then."

Just in case someone was listening in on them, Severus cast a Silencing Charm over the table. He leaned forward and whispered. "And if he's really a zombie?"

"If Louis really _is_ a zombie, who's to say what his life will be like?" Hermione asked. She then sat back in her chair, crossing her arms and acting defensive. "It's not as though we have anything for comparison. There are no non-human zombies documented anywhere, although there's a case for anecdotal evidence for vampire bats and a dog or two from years ago. Maybe Louis will fly off to that lovely farm in the sky in a few years anyway."

Severus wasn't satisfied. "Let us say, for the sake of argument, that the peacock does _not_ hop the twig within the next few years."

She nodded, acquiescing. "Go on, then."

He frowned before stating the obvious. "Could he not, hypothetically, live forever?"

"Well…" Her voice trailed off, and she stared at an unremarkable patch of ceiling halfway across the restaurant. The soft blush to her cheeks deepened in hue, and she took a sip of her water. A long, leisurely sip designed to put off the inevitable. "You see…"

"Spit it out, Granger."

"Nippy has instructions!" she blurted out.

"Instructions?"

"Yes," she said, leaning in as she spoke more quickly. "Above all, the Ministry wants this quiet. Nobody needs to panic about this if it's under control. If Mister Malfoy's bloated peacock doesn't die of natural causes in the next ten months, Nippy will alert the Aurors to… er…"

He took pity on her, filling in the blanks. "Alert the Aurors to _eliminate the threat_?"

At least she grimaced before nodding in affirmation. Then she rattled on, tapping her fork to the table with a nervous energy. "Listen, Severus, I was really hoping you'd be able to convince me nothing terrible will happen here. I mean… zombies?" She tittered an odd laugh of disbelief. " _Zombies._ Until last month, I though zombies were purely fictional. When I first learned I was a witch, I read all the hidden histories of centaurs and goblins and giants. For that matter, I _met_ centaurs and goblins and giants. At my _school_. As my _teachers_. When a zombie didn't step forward to teach basic maths or writing skills, I relegated zombies into the category of imaginary creatures, just like dryads and naiads and whatnot."

"Zombies certainly are… _uncommon_ in the magical world," Severus conceded. He plucked the fork from her hand before she did any damage to the tablecloth. "I have never encountered one in the flesh before, but one hears stories of unmentionable things out of the Caribbean islands and certain regions of Africa. It's all related to a branch of unorthodox magic we like to ignore in the civilized West these days, something called Vodun or Voodoo. My limited knowledge of the subject comes from the Potions master who trained me years ago."

Hermione slid her chair around the table, placing herself right next to his side. Clearly, she valued secrecy. When she whispered, he could feel her breath, hot on his neck. "After Ron and I filed our reports on that bird, we both received the zombie briefing from the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh?" Severus asked, noncommittal in his words. He wondered just what the official Ministry policy was on the undead. "What did they have to say?

"At first, I could scarcely believe my ears as the Unspeakables catalogued the events of the past. Did you know that all those medieval plagues were really outbreaks of zombies?"

Severus tipped his head in acknowledgement. "Yes. Alchemists and Potions masters were the first people enlisted by the Ministry to try to stop the threat. However, I learned nothing about zombies until I received my mastery."

Whispered questions flooded out of her. "Did I _miss_ that information in Binns' class? How did I never read about it anywhere in any book in the Hogwarts or Ministry libraries?"

Severus casually slung his arm across the back of her chair, making it look like he was whispering sweet nothings to her. It was unlikely that anyone was listening in on them, but it was still a good excuse to get closer to the woman. "It is, Hermione, selective history telling at its finest. Collective memory is malleable. The Ministry does not want wizards concerned with zombies today, therefore it will suppress any and all information related to zombies, no matter when or where it was written."

She sighed, relaxing slightly against his arm. "It's all true then?"

Grimly, he nodded.

"So the last zombie in England," Hermione said, "died by a blow to the head in the Great Plague of London in the seventeenth century."

Letting himself lean in to breathe in the scent of her perfume, he offered up incredibly unromantic words. "That _is_ the traditional method for zombie disposal. Always go for the head. However, what you know as the Great Plague of London is, amongst wizards, called the Zombie Mutiny of 1665."

She shivered. "It's a tragedy. Neither Muggles nor wizards really remember it. It's foolish to forget the past."

"I won't disagree." Severus thought it over for a moment. "I would not, however, say that the Zombie Mutiny of 1665 or the Great London Plague or whatever you want to call it was entirely forgotten."

"How do you mean?" she asked, gazing into his eyes.

Severus physically pinched his hand in order to stay focussed on her words rather than the rich shade of brown staring up at him trustingly. _Merlin, but he was already lost to her like some pathetic schoolboy_. "Think about what you were taught in history class as a child. If you consider all the written melodramas and cinematic camp that Muggles have made about zombies, you'll note that they almost inevitably feature a zombie apocalypse."

"How does that mimic the London plague?"

"Size," he said. "A quarter of the city was wiped out in the Voodoo pandemic. Think about the Black Death—"

"That was zombies?" Hermione cried, a look of horror on her face. "A third of _Europe_ died in the Black Death."

"Yes. The Black Death was zombies, too," Severus said, confirming her fears. "It's a little known fact that Nicolas Flamel, Dumbledore's old partner, first came up with the Elixir of Life so that he and his wife Perenelle would outlast the undead."

She gasped, drawing the attention of others nearby. "You're joking!"

"I am not," he said, dropping his voice once more. "At any rate, there were the occasional zombies that occurred in isolation, much like Lucius's peacock, but the appearance of zombies is typically a much more widespread phenomenon."

"If Nippy keeps Louis le Gros safe and content, and lets someone poison him in his sleep this time next year," Hermione said, bringing them back to the present, "we'll all be fine, won't we?"

Severus decided that it was her garish Gryffindor optimism talking, and began to think through a way to remind her the world didn't always do what you wanted it to, and that the façade of control was a dangerous lie. Before he got out the words, he felt a small hand on his knee.

And promptly forgot whatever it was he'd been meaning to tell her.


	3. A Bedraggled Malfoy

Despite Severus’s initial doubts, everything _was_ fine.

He puttered about his home laboratory, preparing this and that for St. Mungo's when they asked him for some help. Went to the shops, bought the groceries, cooked the food, and cleaned his home, all as usual. If it weren't for the fact that he had seen a white peacock with a bit of brain in its beak, Severus would never know that there was a feral zombie living—or _not_ living, as the case may be—in England.

It had been awhile since Lucius had invited him over for tea or a game of chess, so Severus gave him his space.

As for Hermione?

_Hermione._

She was a feisty woman, and she had developed a taste for exotic cuisine. He let her sweep him off his feet, taking him out to some new restaurant every Friday night. Since neither was comfortable with a lot of attention, they always headed out into Muggle London. They managed to keep things quiet that way, trying out the burgeoning relationship away from prying eyes and questioning friends.

No, things were fairly simple between them. They’d eat and chat, complaining about workloads, and under the table, the effervescent Miss Granger tested his self-control with her wandering fingers. Then he’d walk her back to her flat, and she’d drag him in by the collar.

And she’d _pounce._

The first time, she backed him up against a wall, snaking her hands into his hair.

Then she straddled him on her sofa, kissing him with that passion she brought to everything she did, pouring her spirit into his mouth, placing his hands on her body where she wanted to be touched.

He’d never felt so alive.

It was inevitable, really, that she’d figure out she was wasting her time on a bitter old man. Severus was practical, and he knew that whatever they had together was marked with an expiration date. Lucius would find out or Potter would discover them, horizontal on her couch, and she’d call it off.

For now, though, life was as good as he’d ever had it. Nobody was trying to blackmail or kill him, he hadn’t so much as thought of Neville Longbottom for a solid decade, and Hermione Granger’s tongue regularly found its way into his navel.

 

 

*

Well, everything was _mostly_ fine.

The guard-elf slipped up roughly two months into his duty, having fallen asleep on his stool in the aviary. All it took was ten minutes, and Louis clambered out of his pen to nibble on the flesh of a second peacock, a 4-year-old female named Marie de Bourbon.

Severus was called over for that one.

“Don’t you see?” Lucius seethed. It was a rainy March afternoon, and the man was so distracted that he forgot to renew his water-repelling charms as he marched all over the manor grounds. His blond locks clung to his neck in a decidedly unbecoming fashion, and the silk jacquard of his new robes was ruined.

Lucius Malfoy looked downright _bedraggled_.

Still, at least Louis hadn’t devoured Marie entirely. Severus stared at the little female, all white save for a splash of red under her right wing. Her eyes were glazed over, just like Louis’, and she moved with an unearthly lethargy in her pen.

“Is there any reason Louis turned this one?” Severus asked, walking around her to see if he could spot anything unusual. Anything _else_ unusual, that was. “He could have gone for her brain, killing her like he did the other female.”

“Perhaps he wanted company—I have no idea!” Lucius said, running his fingers through his hair.

Severus stepped closer to the cages, leaning down to watch the birds as they moved in a trance.

“The Ministry is grossly neglecting their duty,” Lucius stated, showing Severus the reinforced steel cage he’d constructed around Louis and Marie in his determination to save the rest of his flock. “Do they think I am an impotent old man, incapable of fighting back when they ignore my wishes? If they think they can force me to go along with their little plan, they're in a for a rude surprise. Ha!” he scoffed.

Severus paused. “What have they asked of you, Lucius?”

Throwing a glare over his shoulder, Lucius explained. “I’ve been prohibited from going public with the story, of course. Forced to sign the gag order at wandpoint.”

“Who?” Severus asked, hoping it wasn’t Hermione.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Why, the Great Harry Potter himself. He’s Head Auror, apparently, so he personally paid a visit to the manor the day after the incident. Regardless, that Granger woman promised me that Louis would live out the remainder of his days in the comfort of his own home, but she can’t provide adequate containment for him at all!”

Severus gulped, relieved. He decided not to mention his recent liaisons with Hermione. Why ruffle Lucius’s feathers over something that wasn’t going to last?

Lucius glanced at him suspiciously. “This is where you’re to leap into the conversation, insulting Potter and Granger within an inch of their cossetted little lives.”

Severus snorted. Lucius was one to talk about _cossetted_. “Potter I’ll give you, but if it weren’t for Granger, we’d be left to deal with Weasley on his own. She can participate in a conversation without resorting to grunts and hand gestures.”

“Oh?” Lucius asked, one eyebrow cocked knowingly. Then he shook it off and went on, waggling his finger in Severus’s face. “They haven’t even _tried_ to reverse his condition. No one has come by to take a blood sample, no one has come to monitor and record his behaviour for clues, no one has—”

“Should they fund new research at St Mungo’s? Find a potion to cure him?”

“Of course not!” Lucius said. “If they’re _clever_ , they’ll begin with Charms work.”

Severus paused for a moment, considering this exchange. Lucius seemed awfully convinced that there were better and worse ways to go about restoring Louis le Gros to health. There was something that Lucius wasn’t telling him, but the man clearly didn’t trust him enough to let him in on what he knew. “To be fair,” he said, “nobody at the Ministry knows what they’re fucking _doing_ , do they? To top it off, he's currently under the jurisdiction of the MLE. Law enforcement doesn't give a whit about research."

Unable to hide his ire, Lucius's eyes flashed with anger and frustration. "I asked to have his case transferred to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, but my inquiries into the investigation have been rebuffed at every turn!"

"We're talking about the same Ministry, aren't we?" Severus asked sarcastically. "The same Ministry that is perpetually strapped for cash. They will never build you a new Zombie Department to benefit one single bird.”

Lucius looked over at Marie, his eyes sad. His thrice-damned fucking lip trembled as he watched her lumbering around her pen in circles, but thankfully, his handkerchief remained in his pocket. “It's two birds now.”

“Still,” Severus stated, “the stakes are too low. No major damage has been done, so why would they bother to fritter away precious Ministry resources on something so wholly removed from their own interests? Surely there are better ways for a government official to spend the Galleons. They’ll sooner budget for luxury loo roll in the Ministry toilets than spend money to save your pets."

Malfoy considered his words. He tapped his chin, deep in thought. “What _would_ it take for them to get involved?”

The question hung ominously in the air.


	4. "The Zombie Sensation Sweeping the Nation"

Strange things began happening all over Britain.

First was the attack on the Fwoopergrass peacocks, another respected line of birds from a top breeder. Unlike Lucius's white birds, the Fwoopergrass birds were traditionally coloured, with vibrant green and blue feathers. Yes, three dozen birds had mysteriously become monsters overnight. Apparently, Bertram Fwoopergrass found his ostentation of peacocks violated one morning after breakfast. He walked into the peacock enclosure only to find every single bird standing in a line, staring at him. 

This was according to the letter Lucius had owled to Severus, although he didn’t say how he had learned of the attacks. He also begged Severus to leverage his influence with the Ministry as a war hero in order to divert research funds for the birds.

Thankfully, the owl found him at Hermione’s flat where he was staying. There Severus read the note while preparing a full English for himself and his... _woman friend? Very good acquaintance?_ Severus wasn’t quite sure what to call her, but he certainly enjoyed the view while she dug through the cupboards looking for tea, dressed in nothing but his Oxford shirt and a pair of his woolen socks.

“It seems that the zombie problem is spreading,” Severus said, salting the mushrooms in their pan. He glanced at Hermione as she set three options of black teas out on the counter. “Bertram Fwoopergrass’s birds were afflicted."

“Yes,” she replied, pulling out two mugs. “We were called there three days ago to inspect the scene.”

He stopped in his tracks, forgetting to stir the vegetables. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I…” her voice faltered. “I didn’t think you were all that interested, Severus. We haven’t spoken of anything peacock-related since our first date.”

He glanced her way, trying to read her intentions, not wanting to believe she was keeping secrets from him. And yet it seemed odd that she hadn’t said a word, since she often told him about the cases she worked on. “Consider me interested.”

“All right then,” she said, tugging his hand over to the sausages to remind him to flip them. “When we showed up, we found that thirty-seven of the thirty-eight Fwoopergrass birds had minor bites. Those peacocks were just trotting around their enclosure, eyes glazed over and moving in that strange, mechanical fashion like Louis le Gros or Marie the Whatever-it-is-Malfoy-Calls-Her, and—“

“You’ve seen Marie?” Severus tipped his head to look at her.

She bristled. “Naturally. Nippy called us to the manor after Louis attacked her.”

He frowned. Neither Lucius nor Hermione had mentioned seeing the other, and that seemed… rather peculiar. He thought back to Hermione's words about the other birds. Thirty-seven out of thirty-eight birds had been turned into zombies, but that left one. “And? What about the last Fwoopergrass bird?”

“Brain gone, blood everywhere,” she said perfunctorily. “With Malfoy’s first female, the death toll has risen to two. Of course, all of this is hush-hush, Severus. I’m technically not supposed to be talking about it with anyone outside Magical Law Enforcement.”

He kissed her briefly on the lips and reassured her of his silence.

 

*

 

The next event involved Muggles, which meant that half the Aurors were called to deal with the situation.

Marwell Wildlife Zoo was the site.

It was the same modus operandi, with one peacock debrained and gone. The remainder—fifty-nine—all turned to peacock zombies.

Really, Severus wouldn’t have known that anything had happened at all if it weren’t for Hermione. She invited him over to her place for some takeaway and wine after a long and stressful day at the office, and her complaints about the day were bizarre.

She held out a bottle of red, the cork . “So when we arrived, the Muggles had already assessed the carnage at the zoo, decided to call it an avian flu, and reported it on the local television station. The BBC picked it up right away, and now the nation is bracing for another attack of bird flu like the one that took out thousands of Ireland’s chickens a few years back. They’re blaming the Swedes and the Spaniards for spreading it, and the Prime Minister’s office put out a statement about tightening trade in Europe." 

“But this affliction doesn’t even resemble bird flu,” Severus stated, opening the bottle of red that was going to have to work with the Thai food Hermione had ordered. “Bird flu is characterized by enlarged heads, respiratory distress and not laying any eggs. Lethargy, too, but I imagine that the zombie peacocks do appear lethargic.”

Hermione scooted closer to him on the sofa, laying out their feast on paper plates. “Believe it or not, none of the zombies have laid any eggs since they were bitten. At any rate, nobody can explain it with any other term but the flu. So anyway, since the avian flu story is already out there, we had to dispose of the one dead bird and modify the memories of every person who saw it. It took hours, since nobody knew how many zookeepers or people visiting the zoo had seen the zombie peacock.”

“Could we stop calling them zombies?” he asked. “Whenever you say it, I just picture big, stupid oafs lumbering about, cross-eyed and bloodthirsty.” 

She picked up a piece of broccoli with her chopsticks, feeding it to him with care. “You should join me at the Auror office for awhile. Come on as a consultant or something, and I’ll have Harry swing a pretty paycheck your way. Amongst ourselves, we call them the Squawking Dead.”

He nearly choked.

 

*

 

There were more peacock attacks, Muggle and magical, all over England. Five dozen birds at the Cotswald Wildlife Park, thirteen belonging to one Nigel Plaskitt of Upton Snodsbury, and three pet peacocks belonging to Germaine Bones, a distant relative of the Bones family. It seemed that every witch or wizard who owned a peacock now had a slobbering pile of feathers instead.

Then came the kicker: the first zombie headline in the Wizarding press. 

It came out on a Saturday, and the only reason Severus even saw it was because Hermione insisted at getting that rag at her flat. They were nearing the three-month mark in their relationship, and somehow, he found himself at her place every weekend now. She’d invite him over, and when they were through making love, her sweaty arm clamped down around his waist, effectively trapping him there for the duration of the night. 

Not that he fought it hard.

Or at all.

She even cleared out a drawer for him in her dresser, and she left a sleek black toothbrush for him in the cup on her bathroom sink.

So one fine March morning when he woke up at her place, he crawled out of bed naked and headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. Not wanting to throw caution to the wind, he slipped Hermione’s ratty old apron over his head to protect all his bits from the cooking oil, and he began to get to work, fishing out the sausages and tomatoes and whatnot from the fridge.

Somewhere after the baked beans and the bacon were all in the pan but before the eggs had been cracked, a loud hoot alerted Severus to the newspaper delivery.

“Zombie Peacock Sensation Sweeping the Nation” was splashed across the front page of the _Quibbler_.

“Fucking hell!” he cried, scanning the article for relevant information. What he found instead was unlike anything Severus ever could have predicted, and he began laughing aloud as he read Luna Lovegood’s words: “Learn more about the zombie sensation sweeping across Britain!” 

Hermione stumbled out of bed, barely coherent and barely clothed, wearing just his old T-shirt. He was a lucky man. “What’s so funny?” she asked, yawning.

He thrust a cup of strongly brewed tea in her right hand and the paper into her left. “So much for keeping it quiet.”

She took a long swig of tea before reading the story. Then she promptly spat it all over the floor. “WHAT IS THIS?”

He shrugged, turning his attention to the toast. “I didn’t finish it yet. Read it aloud while I serve us up, will you?”

Now riveted to the page, Hermione’s eyes skimmed the article. “Luna seems to think that zombies are the best option for low-maintenance pets. Listen to this: ‘Are you moving less in your later years, and finding yourself unable to keep up with your Crups and Kneazles? Consider the zombie solution! They’ll slow down to a manageable pace with just one bite.’” Hermione looked up at him, horrified. “It goes on to describe how Bertie Fwoopergrass was growing too old to care for his peacocks, so he had them, and I quote ‘zombified.’”

He snorted aloud as he plated their breakfasts and topped off his tea. “I didn’t know that was a word.”

“Neither does the Oxford English Dictionary,” she hissed, picking up their plates to bring them to the cosy table in the corner of the kitchen. “Severus, she reports on details from the Fwoopergrass estate that she couldn’t possibly know!”

“Floo her and ask about her sources. You and I both know it wasn’t Lucius, unless he figured a way around your gag order. How about—“

“You know about that?” she asked, absentmindedly dipping her toast into the runny eggs.

“He might have mentioned it.”

She frowned, producing an adorable wrinkle above her nose. “Nobody was supposed to know about this. The Minister will be furious! She’s trying to shut this down.”

Severus began slicing his sausage into equal-sized portions. “Why doesn’t Minister Grubbly-Plank just kill all the infected peacocks and be done with it? I imagine that a chainsaw to the brain would knock out all of the infected creatures.”

“Instead of chainsaws, I worked on a spell to do the same thing,” she said, taking out her wand. After a few intricate movements, she cried “ _Circumsecans_!”

It didn’t appear that anything had changed. Then Hermione poked her sausages with her wand, and each fell into perfectly sliced pieces of processed meat.

“Is your spell a miniature chainsaw?” he asked.

She grinned. “But of course!” Then she put her hand on his forearm resting on the table, and her face softened. “Grubbly-Plank was consulted after Louis’ attack, and she declared that we have no right to kill an animal except as a last resort for public safety. Not that I want to. I hope none of us need this spell, but if the Squawking Dead escape or go rogue, we may have to kill them all. If the stories hold true, the key is remembering to aim for their skulls.”

Severus shook his head. “If the woman is such an animal lover, why doesn’t she do as Lucius has asked and divert Ministry funds towards a cure?”

Patting his knee, Hermione leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re a real teddy bear under it all, aren’t you? Assuming the best of people.”

His glare could have frozen over Fiji. “I merely assume that her policy is directed by her ideology. I assume nothing about her character other than that she’s likely as corruptible as every other politician in history.”

“Minister Grubbly-Plank won’t do anything that makes her look weak in the public eye, and she certainly won’t spend Ministry funds on peacocks. Zombies are limited, attacking their own species as far as we know, so humans aren’t at risk. I don’t even know if other species of birds are at risk.”

Severus scowled. “Will it be better or worse for her when the people discover she’s been keeping the news of zombies—even if they are a bunch of pea-brained birds—secret from the public?”

Before Hermione had a chance to answer him, another owl came tapping at the window. She leapt up from the breakfast table to let in a handsome tawny owl delivering the weekend edition of the _Daily Prophet_.

Another front page story, with a decidedly different point of view from Luna Lovegood’s. Yes, “The Invasion of the Peacock Snatchers” shared all the lurid details: the Fwoopergrass birds, the Muggle zoos, and the half dozen or so independent breeders who had lost peacocks already.

Hermione cleared the table with some showy wandwork. Then she splayed the paper wide so they could both read together. So far, it just regurgitated the facts from the story in the _Quibbler_. Severus reasoned with himself that it could have been worse. A small group of birds, primarily owned by the rich wizards whom the masses wanted to see their comeuppance wouldn’t cause any riots.

But then…

_Then._

Then it went on to quote from several specialists arguing that zombie infections might be able to leap species like many other diseases, and the remainder of the paper was dedicated to zombies.

They flipped the page to find a list of all the major zombie invasions in British history, from Roman times right up through the Restoration.

Next came “Is that a Brain in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?” It wasn’t really an article as much as it was a list of tips to identifying the undead among you. Severus groaned as he read them aloud. He cleared his throat and said, “’It can be easy to confuse a zombie with someone who is overly tired or moody. Your coworker may just have had a hard night out on the town, so double check if they _are_  a zombie before alerting the authorities. Asking questions like ‘How was your night?’ should do the trick. A verbal reply should reassure you that your colleague is not a member of the undead, but merely someone dealing with long hours at the office or a hangover.’" 

Hermione sniggered, threading her arm under his so she could pull herself closer to him.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, this is _phenomenally_  thoughtful reporting as usual. Now all of England will be able to defend themselves from the coming hordes.”

Hermione smacked his shoulder. “You had better not report me, Severus. According to these rules, I’m a zombie every morning before my tea.”

“Ah,” he said, turning the page, “there is more.”

“Outlast the Undead: A Guide to Stockpiling Foodstuffs in Times of Trial” was a two-page spread, listing a series of helpful household spells to can and dry foods to build a pantry that would outlast the coming in

Severus rolled his eyes. “These fear-mongering idiots are recommending that each witch or wizard have a minimum of one year’s supply of meals.”

“I’m wretched with these kinds of householdy types of spells,” Hermione muttered, looking down the list. “Molly tried to teach me all her tricks for years, but I never picked up anything more than a basic cleaning spell. I hope you know that I’m counting on you to save us.”

 _Us_  sounded like a rather magical word to Severus’s ears. Had she been looking, she would have noticed a crooked smile on his face. “Every Potions master needs to dry and cure ingredients. What would you like in your zombie pantry, Hermione?”

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, already rough from yesterday’s shave. “My hero. I’ll put in my request for mangos. Oh—and apricots. I love dried apricots.”

“Would you like them even without a zombie apocalypse?” Severus asked, pulling her up onto his lap. “Since you and I both know that this will never go beyond the peacock population of Britain, I refuse to build you a stockpile the size of a small house.”

Hermione kissed him sweetly on the lips, and he could feel a blush rising on his cheeks. “I’ll settle for a handful of dried apricots for my oatmeal in the morning. It seems foolish to ask for more, since there aren’t actually any zombies coming anytime soon.”

Severus looked at her ominously, and smirked. "Or _are_ there, Granger? Or _are_ there?"

 

 


	5. The OTHER Other Minister

Unfortunately, the rest of the country fell for the _Prophet_ ’s creative reporting.

The panic was widespread, felt in all areas of Wizarding society all across Britain. Local grocery stores ran out of the basics, and loaves of bread, pints of milk, and instant soup packets of Merlin's Mushroom Mash were all cleared out. 

More owls flew through the air since the day after the Dark Lord was defeated.

London was particularly chaotic, with Diagon Alley acting as the central hub of all zombie survival activity. A walk up the street showed just how much had changed overnight. There was a rush on Gringotts as people started removing their gold from the caverns below, but whenever the goblins grew fed up with the lines, they locked the doors and closed the bank.

A few buildings had been boarded up and abandoned, but all the others changed their marketing strategies.

Flourish & Blotts changed their window display so that every zombie-related book they carried was front and center. Madam Malkin began selling robes made from what she called zombie-repelling fabric, but that really looked like a kind of cheap velour that she had spelled to shimmer in the light. A new devilled egg made with beet juice was sold at The Leaky Cauldron as their special appetizer. “Blood-shot eyes” became the most popular item on the menu.

And Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sold a new line of fireworks called “Squawkets,” which appeared to be rockets in the shape of peacocks.

Nevertheless, things didn’t really come to a head until the riot at the Ministry.

*

 

Severus wouldn’t have even been there had it not been for Hermione, who he was supposed to meet for lunch. When he arrived outside the telephone booth entrance at Whitehall, he knew that something was amiss. There were a few more people than usual outside the place, and at least two or three men in trench coats were watching the entrance. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

Nevertheless, he queued up, waiting for his turn down the lift to the Ministry offices below, eager to see Hermione safe and sound.

What he found was utter chaos.

Not dozens, but _hundreds_ of witches and wizards were mobbed together in the Atrium. People of all ages, as young as teenagers and as old as Mr. Ollivander, all stood there, waving wands and calling for the Minister’s resignation.

 _She_ was nowhere to be found, but Hermione was another story.

Cries of “Severus! Severus!” rang out over the crowd, and when he turned, he found Hermione running his way. When she finally reached him, she threw her arms around him.

“Let’s get out of here!”

He was surprised to learn that she was leading him deeper into the bowels of the Ministry than back towards the lifts, but he soon discovered the reason. Hermione ran down three flights of stairs with him on her heels, and then she led him through a long corridor with several doors that only opened upon scanning her wand and eyes.

At their destination, he found the Minister herself in a room, empty save for an ugly portrait of a froglike little man wearing a long silver wig.

She stood and held out her hand to Severus. “I’ve long wanted to meet you, Mister Snape, but I wish that it had been under other circumstances.”

He shook her hand. “Has that mob been gathered long? I hope you have a better plan of action than ‘Do nothing’ because it’s starting to get ugly up there.”

“Harry’s been sent to talk them down,” Hermione said, waving a wand at the odd man in the portrait to catch his attention. “They love him, so they’ll quiet down long enough to listen to common sense.”

Severus snorted. “ _That_ remains to be seen.”

A cough from the occupant of the painting drew their attention. “Mister Malthorpe,” Hermione said to him, “if you would be so kind, please tell the Other Minister that we’ll be coming through.”

“The Other Minister?” Severus asked.

Hermione grinned. “Have I failed to mention my side gig? I’m the liaison to the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. We’re all going to pay her a visit.”

A sense of pride flooded into Severus’s chest. He wasn’t surprised to learn that Hermione was serving in this capacity. It suited her skills and gave her an intellectual and political challenge that being an Auror couldn’t have done on its own. He looked down at his simple black suit and grey overcoat, glad that he had dressed up a bit.

Minister Grubbly-Plank gestured towards the Floo, picking up a canister of powder and offering it to Hermione. She threw a handful into the flames and stepped inside, pulling Severus in beside her. When the Minister walked into the green flames as well, she called out “Number 10 Downing Street!”

In a flash, they appeared in a posh office lined with oil paintings and expensive draperies. In the middle of the room sat a heavy oak desk, and behind it sat a woman with a tired look in her eyes and sandy brown hair.

When she stood and walked over to the fireplace to greet them, Severus spied the most garish pair of leopard print shoes he had ever seen. _And people think that wizards are flamboyant dressers_ , he thought.

“Madam Prime Minister,” Hermione greeted the woman cheerfully. “Hello.”

“Ms. Granger.” She turned to face Minister Grubbly-Plank. “Eunice!”

“Hello, Theresa,” said the Minister, greeting the Other Minister with a distanced hug and an air-kiss. “I adore the leopard kitten heels.”

Severus found it rather odd that the Other Minister would make shoes from the kittens of leopards, but he bit his tongue, having learned that it was wiser to offer no opinions to women on clothing. Ever. He held back, standing beside Hermione while the two ministers continued to chat.

The Other Minister held Grubbly-Plank at arm’s length in order to inspect her footwear. Black boots of some sort, with a lift under the heel. “They’re not as understated as what you’ve got, but your booties are simply stunning!”

“Lethifold hide, tailor-made in Scotland,” Grubbly-Plank said. “Cruelty-free, of course.”

“Is a… a _lethifold_ another one of your imaginary creatures?”

“It’s quite real, I assure you,” said the Minister. “They’re typically found in the tropics, and while they can be dangerous when their territory has been threatened, they can be avoided in the wild. Their hide holds numerous magical properties, and you can see the opalescent sheen on the black fur.”

“Astonishing,” the Other Minister replied. “It’s clear you were a biologist before turning to politics. We once had a research chemist as our Prime Minister.”

Hermione elbowed Severus in the side, whispering, “Thatcher was a scientist. If chemistry is like Potions, perhaps there’s hope for you in politics.”

His eyes opened wide in shock, confident in the knowledge that he possessed too much sense to ever bandy about with a political career.

The Other Minister spoke again. “I can’t help but wonder why you’ve called me here today.”

Severus felt her ministerial eyes on him, moving up and down his body before resting on his face.

“I also wonder why you brought this fine gentleman along with you,” the Other Minister said, smiling at him.

Severus was wondering the same thing.

“Allow me to introduce Severus Snape, Theresa,” Grubbly-Plank said.

He took a step forward to shake her hand.

Hermione continued with the introduction. “Mister Snape is a polymath, Minister. He is a highly regarded scientist in our world, as well as a war hero and former spy. He has also personally saved my life twice. He’s here as a witness to the events we need to discuss, and he can answer any questions you might have that I cannot, as he is an expert in several fields.”

“Indeed?” the woman asked. She led the group over to a seating area made up of uniformly upholstered chairs and sofas. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Snape.”

They all sat.

“Now, Ms. Granger, your....” Her voice trailed off as she looked over her shoulder at _her_ portrait of the man in the wig. She shook her head and started again. “Your messenger said that you have something of importance to tell me?”

“Yes, Minister.” Hermione looked down at her hands and over at Minister Grubbly-Plank. “As you know, we in the Wizarding world always want to keep communication open with our fellow British citizens, particularly when sensitive information needs to be shared.”

“You’re beating around the bush, Ms. Granger,” the Other Minister said.

Hermione looked her straight in the eye. “Madam Prime Minister, I’m afraid we have a few new zombies on our hands.”

The Other Minister blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”

“Zombies,” Hermione repeated.

“They’re real?”

“Unfortunately so, but it’s been centuries since they’ve been on British soil. Even now, there are only a few isolated cases.”

The Other Minister walked over to a cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whisky, and poured herself a shot. She slogged it back in one gulp before returning to the others. “Do continue, Ms. Granger.”

“Please allow me to reassure you that they pose no danger to humans, Muggle or magical, and that we are taking steps to eliminate the zombies that have appeared in Hampshire and surrounding counties.”

“No danger to _humans_?”

“Absolutely no danger.” Hermione pulled a folder from her briefcase, setting out some clipped newspaper articles from the _Guardian_ about bird flu. “You may see other stories like this, but rest assured that we are on top of it.”

“The bird flu is not a bird flu?”

“I’m afraid these are the creatures in question.”

The Other Minister looked perplexed. “Ms. Granger, why are you showing me articles about zoos when the problem is zombies?”

“That’s the thing…” Hermione said, pushing forward a photograph of the Marwell Zoo peacocks. “The zombies aren’t humans. They’re peacocks.”

The Other Minister just burst in gales of laughter.

“These creatures cannot be considered peacocks,” Severus explained, trying hold onto a modicum of dignity as he described the physical state of the birds once infected. "They prey on peacocks. They do not prey on each other—that's the difference. They attack and they feed only on warm peacock flesh. Intelligence? Seemingly little or no reasoning power, but basic skills remain and more remembered behaviors from normal life.”

At this point, the Other Minister rolled off her chair, guffawing in loud, riotous bursts. She wiped away tears as she pulled herself back into a seated position.

Hermione and Severus exchanged a glance.

“Oh, dear,” the woman said, reaching for a handkerchief to dab at the corner of her eyes. “You were serious, weren’t you?”

*

When Severus returned to the Ministry with Hermione and Minister Grubbly-Plank, he found Harry Potter waiting. The man still looked twelve years old, with messy hair and robes askew. Not a facial hair to be found.

“Hey, Hermione!” he said, stumbling over himself as he kissed Severus’s… perhaps _lady friend_?… on the cheek. “Er…. The crowds are mostly gone now. I told them that the Squawking Dead weren’t going to hurt them, and I think the believed me.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. She glanced at the Minister. “That seems far too easy.”

“Mister Potter,” the Minister said, “did the Aurors have to force the protesters from the building?”

The boy turned a deep shade of red, and he rubbed the back of his neck while avoiding Severus’s glare. “No. That is…” He coughed a few times before speaking quietly. “They went on their own after I gave them what they wanted.”

“What was that, Potter?” Severus asked.

Hermione pinched his arse, presumably wishing that he had been friendlier towards the boy.

Potter— _Harry_ , Severus supposed—closed his eyes and winced. “Er… an autograph?”

*

 

As it turned out, the Boy Wonder’s appearance did not solve all of their problems, but the mass hysteria calmed down in time.

The poisonous mouth-breathers over at the _Daily Prophet_ ran an article on the imminent zombie attacks only every _other_ day, and hundreds of Howlers poured into the Ministry demanding that the infected birds to be culled. Since no _humans_ were involved, though, most witches and wizards were starting to realise that a pack of slow-witted, marauding peacocks wasn’t going to show up on their front steps and peck them to death.

Their fears, however, did lead to a hefty restructuring in the Ministry budget for the year. No Galleon was wasted if it was going to fight the peacocks, the public thought, so the Ministry gutted the Department of Magical Transportation in order to direct more resources to stop the spread of the zombie peacocks. 

By August, Hermione was working overtime. This ordinarily would have upset Severus, since she spent long nights at the office, but he’d taken her up on her offer to consult for the Ministry, and his lab was on the same floor as her cubicle. He cleared one workbench in the corner for her, and she brought most of her reading material down to be closer to him.

He couldn’t believe his good fortune. The more time she spent with him, the more she seemed to _like_ him. He was beginning to believe that her poor taste in people and her stubborn nature were going to work out in his favour.

So the Aurors kept watch over the peacocks by day and by night, and Severus tested all the potions theories he could think of related to the undead, Vodun, or Voodoo. A few leads seemed like they might pan out at first. He’d tweaked a Draught of the Living Dead with some other healing draughts, but when he fed them to Louis le Gros as test subject, there was no change to the bird at all.

It was back to the drawing board for Severus.

 

*

 

After a few weeks in his cushy Ministry job, Severus hadn't made any advancements on the zombie front. He was busier than he'd ever been, and cancelled all his social engagements in order to dedicate more of his time to being with Hermione. That is, _working_ with Hermione. Well, working _next_ to Hermione at his Ministry lab. The only social engagement he had was Lucius anyway, and Severus was sure that the man was probably preoccupied with Louis and Marie and the rest of the Malfoy peacocks.

He _had_ published two papers on some new potions he had brewed, and secured a patent for a new spell he had developed.

And then a package showed up on his work bench one morning. Wrapped in plain brown paper, with no note attached.

It was unexpected.

Severus was wary.

He opened it, finding an old leather-bound book written in what appeared to be some sort of French. His language skills were shit, but even he could tell that it wasn't what was spoken on the streets of Paris today. After thumbing through the pages and recognising a few spells, he worked out that it was a book of Charms written in a peculiar dialect.

And Severus remembered Lucius’s words from months earlier: “ _If they’re clever, they’ll begin with Charms work._ ”

Of course.

_How had he missed it?_

His head dropped to his desk with a loud thunk. 

That’s where Hermione found him ten minutes later. After she walked through the door and spotted him collapsed on his desk, she ran over, concerned. “Severus! Are you all right?"

He handed her the heavy tome, a volume that Severus just _knew_ must have from the manor. “I am fine. You, my dear... You’re distracting, do you know that?”

Hermione pushed it aside and draped her hands on his shoulders. “Severus?”

“It was there all along,” he said, picking up the book and waving it around. “Lucius Malfoy sent this through the mail today. He charmed his stupid cock, turning it into a zombie, and then he brought Louis—or Marie, perhaps, since she’d be easier to smuggle out from Nippy’s watch under a cloak—around to bite all the other peacocks.”

“He confessed?” she shrieked, her arms waving in the air as she approached.

Severus picked her up, sitting her down on his workbench. Then he nudged her legs apart so he could stand closer to her, and he rested his arms on her shoulders. “My darling Gryffindor,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “He most certainly did not confess.”

“Then how do you—“

“I _know_.” He reached up, cupping her cheek, enjoying the feel as she pressed herself into his hand. “But we do need a confession if we're to find a solution to the peacock problem. Now we have to whip up a plan. that involves the Draught of the Living Dead and the threat of killing his bird.”

“How does this tie into the book exactly?” she asked, tapping the cover.

"Ah, Hermione," he said. He kissed her forehead. “You see, the answer lies _inside_.”


	6. Confrontation

Slipping a glass vial into his breast pocket and keeping a firm grip on the ancient book, Severus wrapped his arms around Hermione in order to Apparate them both to the grounds of Malfoy Manor. They couldn’t Floo directly into the manor study, since they had some business to attend to in the peacock enclosure before heading up to the big house.

After casting Silencing Charms around themselves, Severus and Hermione sneaked up to find Nippy watching over the peacock cages that held Louis le Gros and Marie Bourbon. Hermione knocked out the house-elf with a gentle stunner whilst Severus slipped the potion he had brought along in the water dishes of both birds. The peafowl trundled over, took a few sips, and collapsed in a feathered heap onto the Turkish carpets that Lucius had laid out for their comfort. When Severus examined Nippy's eyes, prying his eyelids open, he also discovered that the house-elf's memory had been selectively wiped out. 

One step down.

Now it was time to confront the man of the house.

Before they made it past the Italian garden, Lucius was upon them. He glanced between his friend and the woman beside him before his eyes settled on the book Severus was holding. “Hello, my old friend. I see that you received my gift.”

“A rather specific present,” Severus replied. He took a step in front of Hermione, a subtle protective gesture whose meaning Lucius would understand.  “Would you like to tell me how you turned your prized pet into a zombie? Any information you can give us could help your case.”

Lucius eyed Hermione with skepticism, and he spoke with restraint. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Severus. Zombies? Me? Unauthorised magic of that kind would surely be against the International Ban on Experimental Breeding, and I am, as you know, _fully reformed_ these days.”

“Really?” Hermione demanded, marching right up to the blond. "Nothing to confess?"

He stood his ground, and to his credit, he didn't flinch a whit. “No.”

"You wouldn't want to tell me how you took Louis around to infect the Fwoopergrass birds and those poor creatures at the Muggle zoos?" Hermione asked, standing with one hand on her hip in defiance.

Lucius feigned shock as he replied, raising one hand to his heart. "Why would I want more of these beautiful creatures taken from the world? How would I have done it, with an Auror guarding them all day and all night?"

"The house-elf's memory has been tampered with," Severus volunteered. "And you're the only one here, Lucius."

"When you let Louis infect Muggle peacocks, we had to go to their Prime Minister." Hermione began her line of questioning again. “They're all convinced that it's a bird flu, but Minister Grubbly-Plank wants this to be over with, once and for all. So if I tell you that I’m here on the Minister’s orders to snuff out the zombie threat for good, you _still_ won’t have anything to confess?”

Lucius took a deep breath before speaking. "No."

“And... If I said that I’d already done it?” she asked, her voice as cold as Severus had ever heard it. Her ruthlessness held a strangely erotic quality.

Lucius ran off to the peacock pens, only to find both birds motionless in their cages. “Louis? Marie? Louis!”

Severus and Hermione followed him.

After opening the gates with a spell and laying his hand under Louis’ chin, Lucius turned back to Hermione.

Eyes flashing and breath rapid, he was _livid._

“I am sorry, Mister Malfoy,” Hermione said flatly. “Your peacock is dead. If only you had come forward earlier with what you knew about the case. As it is, your information came too late, and the Minister gave me no choice.”

He pulled his wand on her then, lining it up with her jugular. Thankfully, his anger left his unfocussed, and Severus managed to disarm him before he knew it.

Lucius watched his wand fly out of his hand, landing in Severus’s open palm. Then he collapsed to the ground, sobbing. “He didn’t have to die! You didn’t have to kill him!”

Crouching down beside him, Severus leaned in and stiffly patted his back. After a minute or two passed, Lucius relaxed in hopeless resignation.

Severus asked another question. “What was wrong with Louis? What was _really_ wrong?”

When the man replied, his voice sounded hollow, desiccated like an old corn husk blown across a dead field. He turned to Severus. “It really _was_ my fault, but I know now that it wasn’t poison. It was never poison. I overfed him and coddled him, and he was sick, and..." His voice trailed off. "The Mediwizard I consulted a few weeks ago told me that he would have been his old self again after a few months of a modified diet.”

“You might have fattened up the bird, but extra servings didn’t turn him into a zombie, Lucius.”

The man looked down at his hands. “I did that, too, Severus. That day with the Aurors, I was out of my mind with worry. I thought Louis was dying then and there, so I took him to the library, believing that there must have been a spell to save his life. There I found that book on charms in Grandfather’s collection on animal husbandry.”

“Yes?” Severus asked, prompting him to continue.

“It’s Haitian. It’s Dark Magic, but I assumed that nothing could be terribly dark if it saved the life of an animal, could it? They’re innocent, unlike us. I tried the Voodoo charm on Louis, and he instantly perked up and started walking again like he had when he was younger. But…” His voice caught in his throat.

“But it wasn’t really Louis anymore?” Severus asked.

Lucius nodded. “I tried to reverse it, but I had no idea how to reverse engineer a spell in that bastardised French. It’s impossible. However, if someone could reverse the spell, all the infected peafowl would become as they once were.”

“That’s why you sent me the book? To work on the incantations?” Severus asked. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier? I don’t know any Creole, but surely someone—”

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady friend?” Lucius asked, interrupting him.

Severus frowned at the non sequitur. “You know Miss Granger already.”

“I know her as Miss Granger, Auror for the Ministry and consummate pain in my backside,” he said. When he turned to Severus, he looked—Could it be?— _hurt._ As he spoke again, his words were measured and formal. “I was asking my oldest friend to introduce me to the woman he is seeing socially. The woman he has been seeing socially for five months now.”

Well, that was unexpected.

Hermione walked up to Severus, slipping her hand into his and giving it a squeeze.

Now that he thought about it, he really _hadn’t_ seen much of Lucius since he began courting Hermione. “Lucius,” he said, attempting an apologetic tone of voice so he wouldn’t actually have to apologise, “this is Hermione Jean Granger, my…”

Fuck.

He still hadn’t figured out what to call her. Everything he’d tried so far sounded asinine, and now she was staring up at him with her beautiful eyes, and—

“Partner,” she supplied. She looked as uncertain as he felt. “Is that all right, Severus? I know we haven’t actually decided what we are, but I feel like you’re my partner now.”

Severus’s heart beat a little faster at her words. He'd never had anyone walking beside him in life, and here was a thoughtful, kind, slightly pushy woman who asked for his advice as often as she bossed him around. She suited him. “Partner,” he said, feeling the word roll around in his mouth. “That seems… appropriate.”

Breaking the moment, she turned back to Lucius. “I could never kill an animal, Lucius. Louis and Marie will be awake within the hour.”

And then Lucius did a startling thing. He walked over and extended his hand to her. “Miss Gran— _Hermione_ , please accept my apology for acting out in my, shall we say, distress.”

That was one way of saying that he’d nearly hexed a government official, a crime punishable by community service and a hefty fine.

She merely shook his hand. “I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary, Lucius.”

The relief that she wasn’t going to be arresting him showed on his face. Then another thought came back to him. “Are you really saying that you cured my peafowl?”

“Not yet,” she said. “They've merely been drugged with Draught of the Living Dead. When they awake, they’ll still be zombies.”

His face fell.

“As an Auror,” she continued, raising her voice, “I cannot legally condone any work with Dark Magic under my watch.”

“And _I_ ,” Lucius said pointedly, “would never say anything on the record to tie the Malfoy holdings to Dark Magic, since I willingly handed over all questionable material to the Ministry after the fall of the Dark Lord and my time under house arrest.”

Hermione looked at Severus and nodded before she spoke again. “If, however, a private consultant hired by the Ministry chooses to spend his stipend on a trip to the Caribbean in order to research the _potions-related subject he was paid to research_ , and if he happens to be able to reverse an old Voodoo spell that turns creatures into zombies while he’s there, who am I to judge?”

Fairly pleased by this solution, Severus ran through his mental catalogue of Caribbean plant life. “I wonder if I’ll see this private consultant when I travel to Port-au-Prince tomorrow.”

“Must you go so soon?” Hermione asked, tucking herself into his side.

Severus kissed the top of her head. “I’ve been meaning to fetch..."—he racked his brains to come up with something appropriate—"a rare Tomzanonia orchid, which, strangely enough, only grows on the northern coast of Haiti.”

 

 

*

In the end, it took two weeks.

Two weeks working with translators, experimenting with spell creation, and learning more about Voodoo than his Western Potions Master had ever taught him. He also stopped over in Saint Lucia for a day of rest and ten minutes of shopping before his Portkey back to London. When he returned to England, he had a rare orchid for himself, a spell to reverse a Haitian curse for Lucius, and a simple gold ring for Hermione.

All the peacocks of England were miraculously restored to health, Louis le Gros was kept on a reducing programme until he returned to an average size, and Hermione said _yes_.


End file.
